I don't know. I'm about to write it.
|I'll write a poem, brief and terse,
perhaps in rhyme and florrid verse.
Perhaps I'll write a brilliant ode,
or maybe crap for my commode.
My writing's easy as my breath.
I'll write, the day I face my death.
I dine on Life both clean and foul,
and poems issue from my bowel.
Am I a poet? You decide.
Does any merit here reside?
In less than ten, I've typed it in,
so now I guess it's for the bin.